


99 Problems

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: AU, And by dubious I mean bordering on rape, Cop!Mike, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike is a cop and Chester is a drug dealer who will do anything not to go to prison. And, just for the record, he gives great head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	99 Problems

It started out as any other deal. Same telephone box, same crossing, Ground Hog's day. The only thing that changes are the faces, and even then it's not really by much. Same two day headache from withdrawal, same skin pulled too tight over hollow cheek bones, same sunken eyes and fidgeting hands. Long, skeletal fingers grab the baggie as they stuff the bills into his hand, a mumbled "thanks, bro" with their head down. Hood up, paranoid glances all around, and then they're gone.

Chester imagines this is what it must be like to work in Starbucks.

He leans against the glass window of the phone booth with the dirty receiver pressed to his ear, listening to the fuzzy silence that comes before you drop coins into the slot. He can see his next customer approaching but doesn't look at them, doesn't make eye contact. The guy pushes the door open on the phone booth and says, "What you got?"

"What do you want?" Chester asks, looking at the guy down his nose.

He doesn't have a chance to react before the guy pins him against the back of the phone booth and punches him, a sloppy hit to the chin that has him spitting blood. He runs his tongue over his teeth to check they're all there before shoving the guy, hard, trying to get out of the booth but the stranger is quicker than him. Amped up on crystal meth he could fight all night. He tears Chester's wife beater clean off his back and starts at his pants.

Chester kicks out, panicking, "You looking for a good time, faggot? You came to the wrong fucking place."

The guy manages to grab the last few bundles of drugs from Chester's pocket whilst Chester grabs his hair in one hand and pulls, pulls, pulls until a huge chunk comes out and the man recoils in pain, keening like a kicked dog. Suddenly the whole phone box is illuminated red and blue and the stranger is gone, leaving Chester alone.

The cop gets out of his car slowly, hand hovering over the gun on his utility belt. "Put your hands on your head and step out of the phone booth," he says, calmly.

Chester wishes he was armed for a second, then reconsiders as he is pretty sure stabbing a cop would get him twenty five to life. "I haven't got anything on me," he says, "you're wasting your time." He steps out of the booth with his hands locked together on his head.

The cop steps closer. "Put your hands on the roof of the car," he says.

Chester rolls his eyes and does as he is told, standing in the gutter, legs spread and hands pressed flat on the top of the squad car. The lights blind him and he looks away. Between the dazzle of the blue and red lights and the head ache he has from the punch the cop is just a silhouette.

The cop pats him down, running his hands across his waist. "You got anything I could hurt myself on?"

"No, sir."

As the cop runs his hands down his legs Chester thinks of how horrible prison is going to be just to stop himself getting a hard on. It reminds him of when he hired a stripper for his best friend's stag do, all the things you can do with a truncheon. When the search comes to an end the cop steps back, pulls his torch from his belt and shines it in Chester's face.

"What's your name?"

"Chester Bennington."

He puts the torch on the roof of the car, still shining directly onto Chester's face, and leans through the open car window to grab his radio. He relays the information back to some bored sounding woman on the other end of the line then asks, "What's your date of birth?"

"Are you going to take me on a date, asking me all these questions, officer?"

The cop puts the radio down and backhands him across the face. "What'd you say your date of birth was? I couldn't hear you for your smart mouth."

"March twentieth, nineteen seventy six."

Fuck, he thinks, this is for real. He feels sick, a burst of nervous energy spreading from his tingling fingers still spread on the roof of the car and spreading all the way down his body. When it reaches his feet he takes off, not even hesitating. He sprints around the corner and down the street, ducking in and out of alleys, weaving in and out the crowds still roaming aimlessly from bar to bar. Behind him somewhere he can hear the cop yelling at the top of his lungs to stop but he doesn't. It'd be bad enough, being arrested, but running away and being caught surely has higher penalties.

He doesn't go home, wasn't born yesterday, but instead stays on the run for almost an hour before he dives into an underground bar, almost falling down the stairs. A girl leans against a desk at the bottom, pushing her tits together and snapping her gum. "Ten dollars in," she says.

Chester pats his pockets and comes up empty, that fucker stole everything. One last attempt at finding anything, anything at all in his pockets turns up one ecstasy pill. It's bright blue with a butterfly printed on it and he slides it toward the girl who nods and lifts the stamp. "Gimme your hand," He reaches out and she stamps him roughly, winking and snapping her gum. "Have fun," she says.

Chester nods and disappears into the club. He blends in here, not out of place despite being shirtless, a bit bloody and covered in tattoos. All around him people bump and grind to Nine Inch Nails blaring through the speakers. At the bar is a girl slumped with a drink held loosely in her hand and she doesn't protest at all when Chester takes it from her and downs it in one go.

"What happened to your face?" She slurs, squinting at him through her fake eyelashes.

"A cop hit me."

She hisses. "Fucking pigs," she says, turning to the barman and ordering another drink which she slides to Chester. "Here, forget about it."

He checks his watch and takes a long sip of the acidic green drink. Three a.m. The club doesn't kick people out until eight, which is a long time sitting here penniless. He leans into the girl, smelling her perfume as he yells in her ear, "I don't have any money, I was robbed."

She raises an eyebrow, "you want to borrow?"

"I want to earn it," he says. He moves back so she can see his face and then nods, grabbing his hand and towing him away.

They fuck in the ladies bathroom, Chester pinning her up against the wall of the stall. The whole thing rocks side to side as she wraps her arms and legs around him, holding him closer. Generally he hates having sex with girls, they're so needy, but beggars can't be choosers. She gives him a fifty and a smile. "If you eat me out I'll give you a twenty," she says.

Chester sighs, nods. He wants to say no, really, but seventy bucks is a lot when you've got nothing. By the time it's over she staggers out of the bathroom with a sleepy smile. "You never even asked my name," she says.

"What's your name?"

"Not telling," she says, winking, swaying her ass as she leaves.

The second the door swings closed Chester bends over the toilet and throws up. His heart is still racing from his brush with the law. He needs another drink, a pill, anything. He washes his face in the dirty basins before returning to the club. Among the sweat throng of moving bodies he finds a boy with bright pink hair who slips him a tab of acid. Washing it down with house vodka, Chester lets the drug buzz and the music carry him away.

When they put the house lights on there is a collective groan from the hardcore clubbers who haven't stopped dancing since they got there, hours ago. The last song grinds to a halt and the security make their way across the dance floor, chasing people out. Chester goes without a fuss, the fight gone from him completely. He shuffles home like a zombie, people shuffling to work like zombies just the same. Back at his apartment he kicks his door until it swings open, having lost the key somewhere between the mugging, the cop, Not Telling, the drugs...

Falling into bed feels like falling forever. He's never been so happy to fall asleep, and when he does it is dreamless.

***

Three days later he is taking a leak against an abandoned store front when a heavy hand clamps down hard on his shoulder and squeezes. He doesn't need to turn around to know this is bad news.

"There's a warrant out for your arrest, son," a voice says. The same voice that couldn't hear him for his smart mouth three nights ago.

Chester winces, finishes up and turns around. He is surprised to find the cop out of uniform, wearing jeans and a button down shirt. He frowns, briefly, before clearing his throat. "I have a condition that means I need to piss more often. When nature calls, you know?"

The cop sniffs the air. "I smell bullshit," he says. "It's a sixty dollar fine for urinating in a public place, did you know that? And you're wanted for affray, not to mention the drug dealing and evading arrest."

Chester sighs, "So, what the fuck do you want me to do? Just arrest me." He holds out his arms, crossing his hands in front of him. "Get it over with."

The cop grabs his wrist and drags him down the street. Nobody stares and Chester doesn't fight as the cop leads him away toward a car parked in the parking lot of a bar.

"Is this your day off?" Chester asks as the cop shoves him into the back of his car. "Your day off and you're doing work? They're not paying you, why bother?"

He doesn't get a reply and isn't surprised. He'd jump out of the moving car as they drive through the city if the child locks weren't on. "You pick up many men on your day off?" he asks.

The cop glances at him in his rear view mirror and says nothing. The city falls away and gives way to the rolling suburbs. Chester presses his face to the window and frowns. "Hey, where the fuck are we going? The cop shop isn't here."

They pull up outside a house and the cop gets out, opening the passenger door. "Get out," he says, grabbing Chester's wrists and dragging him to his feet. He leads him down the path to the front door and then inside, locking up behind him.

"What the fuck?" Chester asks, crossing his arms. "Are you fucking serious? I thought you were arresting me."

"Yeah," the cop smirks, "house arrest."

"This isn't my house."

"No, Captain Obvious, it's mine."

"Let me out now or -"

"Or what? You'll call the cops?" The cop puts his keys down on a table by the door and just stands there, staring.

Chester shifts uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze and frowns. "What do you want from me?"

"I think you can guess, Chester. If you don't do what I ask you to do I'll turn you in. If you do, your warrant will disappear."

Chester considers his options. He doesn't even know what this guy wants from him, but he doubts it's anything good. He can't go to prison, that isn't going to happen. "What's your name?"

"Shinoda. Mike Shinoda."

"I could report you, Officer Shinoda. Go straight to your boss and tell him what you did."

"If you think that threat scares me it proves you don't know my boss," Mike laughs. "Now, get your ass upstairs." He grabs a handful of Chester's tshirt and pushes him toward the stairs roughly.

He staggers up, almost falling every other step he takes, and shuffles along the hallway. Mike shoves him into what appears to be his bedroom and Chester swallows, hard. "I thought you have to protect and serve."

Mike tips his head back and laughs. "Yeah, whatever." He lets go of Chester's tshirt and waits, patiently. "Get undressed."

Chester wants to say something, something funny or intimidating but his mouth is too dry to form words. He raises his hands to pull off his tshirt but hesitates, glances around the room.

"Get undressed or I'll taser you. How about that for motivation?"

Without pausing Chester pulls his shirt over his head and discards it on the floor. He kicks off his shoes and undoes his pants, letting them pool around his bare feet. The wooden floor is cold despite the ridiculous rise in his body heat as he feels himself flush from his head to his toes. In just his boxers he cups his hands in front of his crotch self consciously.

"Take those off, too."

"Come on, man, why are you doing this?" Chester asks desperately.

"Because you're hot and I'm horny. So do as I say." Mike unbuttons his own shirt and drops it beside Chester's.

"I'm not gay," Chester protest, backing away as Mike approaches him.

"Yes, you are," Mike smirks, his hands doing to his jeans and removing his belt. Without it the material falls loosely around his hips and he runs the leather through his fingers.

"I-I'm a virgin."

"Yeah, yeah, shut it, Britney Spears. Get on the bed."

Mike ushers him toward the bed until his knees hit the back of it and he falls into the mattress. With two hands he deftly pulls off Chester’s underwear, leaving him lying there naked and vulnerable. He watches Mike cross the room to the closet, coming back with a pair of handcuffs.

“Are you fucking joking?” He snaps, scrambling to get up.

Mike jumps on him, straddles his hips and pins his arms above his head. Chester bucks and thrashes beneath him to no avail - his wrists soon clamped to the bars of the headboard. Mike sits back on his heels to admire his handiwork and smiles. “There,” he says, “that’s much better.” With his prisoner secure Mike gets up and undresses.

Chester is dismayed to see Mike is already hard when he takes off his pants and the situation he is in finally dawns on him and he struggles with reborn fear. The cuffs cut into his wrists and he tires quickly. “I hope you’re double bagging,” he says, one last ditch effort at getting himself out of this, “you have no idea where I’ve been. I’m fucking riddled.” He isn’t - he’s as clean as a whistle, but nobody wants to bareback a drug dealer.

Laughing quietly Mike goes through a drawer by his bed and pulls out a packet of condoms and a tube of lube. “I’m not new,” he says.

“So, how long have you been a rapist?” Chester spits.

“You’ll not be saying that when I make you come so hard you see stars,” Mike says with a dirty smile. He rolls a condom onto himself and slams two lubed fingers into Chester hard.

Chester arches his back and cries out in pain as Mike adds another two fingers and fucks him with them carelessly. He squeezes his eyes closed and bites back tears. Sharp pain explodes through him every time the cop moves his hand, scissoring his fingers inside of him. He has barely adjusted to the discomfort when the fingers are removed and Mike sits back, one hand moving along his length, the other grips Chester’s hip.

“You d-don’t have to do this, you know. I give amazing head.”

But it’s too late. Mike pushes in and starts moving immediately, his eyes closing as Chester howls in pain. The cop leans in, tries to kiss him, and Chester bites his lips hard until they bleed. Blood in both their mouths, on both their tongues, seems to fuel Mike’s hunger and he fucks Chester harder. The pain is almost unbearable and Chester spits blood into Mike’s face earning himself a sharp backhand across the cheek.

Mike re-angles his thrusts and nails Chester’s prostate causing the dealer’s eyes to open in surprise. He hits it again and again until Chester moans, despite himself. He doesn’t want to enjoy this but he feels himself getting hard and, when Mike wraps a fist around him to jerk him off, almost coming. He can barely breathe, sweat glistening on his chest as he locks his legs around Mike’s waist. The cop grips his thigh hard and slams into him.

He’s so close to the edge until Mike growls “Don’t you dare come before me,” and he finds himself holding his breath. He can’t hold on anymore and bucks his hips, coming hard, but soon sees stars as Mike crashes his closed fist into the side of his head. He is unconscious for at least a few seconds, misses the face Mike pulls when he comes, and when he comes to the cop is getting dressed.

Chester rolls his head and blinks, hard. “Woah,” he says, “what…what’s going on.”

Mike frowns. “I have to go to work,” he says, pulling on his uniform. “You’ll stay here, like that. I get off at midnight, unless I have a lot of paper work to do.”

Tugging on the cuffs Chester says, “So you’re leaving me here, like this? Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes,” Mike says, strapping his utility belt around his waist and sliding his feet into his boots. He goes to leave the room and only turns around when Chester calls out for him.

“Am I in for more of that? Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well…will you keep your uniform on?” Chester asks.

Mike frowns for a second until the words register and he smirks, says, “Yes,” then turns around again and he is gone.

***

Chester is asleep when Mike gets home, jerking awake when the door downstairs slams. He shifts uncomfortably. Having his arms handcuffed above his head for hours has left his shoulders feeling dislocated. But this doesn’t compare to the pain between his legs, which doesn’t compare to the pain in his head. He doesn’t know if he can stand another round, but when Mike steps into the room still in his uniform he changes his mind.

The cop stands at the bottom of the bed studying him, menacingly. Chester looks away under the weight of Mike’s gaze and, when he looks back, finds himself still under scrutiny. “How was your shift?” He asks.

Silently, Mike roots through the drawer of his bedside table, producing another strip of condoms and the lube from this afternoon. He puts them down on the bed beside Chester, hiding something in his hand. His expression is impossible to read, his face hidden in the shadow from his hat.

“Don’t suppose you’re gonna go gentle, this time?” Chester asks, hopefully.

Mike smiles but it’s more like a grimace. “In your dreams,” he says, opening his hand to reveal something metal that looks like it will probably hurt. Mike reaches down between Chester’s legs and slips the metal ring around him, the sensation making him shiver. “This will make sure there’s no repeat of that premature bullshit you pulled this afternoon,” he smirks, keeping his hand wrapped around Chester’s base for a second before moving it slowly up and down the length, his thumb brushing over the head until Chester is hard.

The dealer arches his back and bucks his hips up with a quiet moan. His arms ache from being pinned above his head all day and he has a headache from the donkey punch but still, wow. He isn’t prepared for Mike shoving two fingers into him dry and he screams silently, his mouth open wide in agony. Wounds from earlier reopen and when the officer retracts his fingers there’s blood on them.

“You’ll need an AIDS test, now,” Chester says. He is lying, but it makes Mike hesitate for a second.

“Shut the fuck up,” he spits, unfastening his pants. He doesn’t pull them off, just down enough to reveal himself. Using his clean hand he jerks himself off, staring at Chester intensely. When he is hard he rolls a condom onto himself and climbs onto the bed, kneeling over Chester’s face. “So, you give great head, do you? Prove it.” He shoves his erection into Chester’s mouth until the dealer gags and tries to pull away. Mike gently strokes his hair going, “sssh.”

It’s creepy, but Chester still closes his lips around Mike’s dick. The condom has no flavour and it’s like licking a glue stick, and the cop isn’t lacking in the…size department, making him wince every time it hits the back of his throat. He sucks gently, then hard, then gently again, varying the pressure as Mike moans above him, one hand planted flat against the wall above the bed, the other gripping the headboard as he thrusts.

When he pulls away he grabs the key for the cuffs from his utility belt, hanging open around his waist, and unlocks them. “Roll over,” he says. Chester does as he is told and the second he does Mike snaps the cuffs closed again. He can’t turn his head to see what is going on but he gets the idea and soon enough Mike pushes in, one long thrust that Chester tries to curl away from.

“Hold fucking still,” Mike hisses as he pushes all the way in, breathing into Chester’s ear he murmurs, “oh you’re so fucking tight.” As he fucks him hard Chester presses his face into the pillow and tries to relax but it’s hard (and so is he).

Growling in his ear Mike says, “Look to your left.”

Chester does, is met with a full length mirror next to the en-suite door. The sight is…hot isn’t the word. He knew the uniform would look sexy, but seeing Mike above him, holding him down…he would blow his load if he could, but the metal cock ring closed tight around him keeps him hard.

Mike grabs his hair in one hand and presses the side of his head down into the pillow as he fucks him harder, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. He moans lowly, his breath ghosting across Chester’s neck. “If I uncuff you will you run away?” Mike asks.

Chester laughs breathlessly, “with a boner like this,” he says, “I’m not running anywhere.”

Pulling out roughly Mike uncuffs him and says, “Sit up.” He watches Chester move slowly, uncomfortably, and lies down with a smirk. “Come here,” he says.

Nodding, Chester moves closer and lowers himself onto Mike’s erection. His head falls back as he lowers himself with a moan. He grabs a fistful of Mike’s shirt in one hand and reaches behind to dig his nails in his thigh with the other as he rides him slowly. The cop claws at his chest and thrusts up, moans his name lowly. He grips Chester’s hips hard, digging his nails in so hard they leave little crescent shaped cuts as he comes, arching his back with a cry.

Chester doesn’t stop moving, desperate to feel it too, desperate to come. “Please,” he says, pressing down hard so that Mike presses against his prostate. “Please, please I…I need to…”

Mike pushes him off and onto his back, rolling a condom onto him and moving down, taking him in his mouth. He gives him head until he feels like passing out, then he takes off the cock ring and keeps going, massaging his prostate with one finger as he does it. When he comes it feels like he’ll pass out, it’s that good. And when it’s over Mike just gets up and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.


End file.
